


Temptation and Strength

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Amnesia, Identity Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Superman finds himself stranded with a beautiful, shallow, and extremely amorous playboy, does he have the strength to resist temptation?  (Spoiler alert:  No.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation and Strength

"--like to especially welcome our hometown hero, Superman himself, here with us this morning!"  The host of the AIDS awareness formal brunch nodded at Superman, who tried to look properly heroic, whatever that meant.  He'd been a public figure for six months now and had been to his fair share of such events, but was never sure what he was supposed to do at them besides look good and make small talk with a vast array of wealthy people.  Some of them were even interesting.

Most were not.

Take, for example, the young man in the outrageous silver-and-mauve paisley ascot and dove-gray cutaway morning coat, currently waving his hands languidly on the other side of the room.  Bruce Wayne, visiting from Gotham for a pet charity, did not look like the kind of person Superman would enjoy having to make small talk with.  He was surrounded by admiring young men and women hanging on his every word.  An older woman, passing by, sniffed disapprovingly as she overheard some story about a very dubious nightclub:  "I don't think it's in good taste to joke about such things, Mr. Wayne."

Superman saw the man's eyes twinkle;  they were a deep, dusky blue, ringed with thick lashes, and seemed out of place in his blandly handsome face.  He smiled at his circle of admirers as the lady sailed off and said conspiratorially, "The well bred contradict other people. The wise contradict themselves."

There were weak, slightly confused chuckles from the ring of people, and one of the young men said, "You and your Wilde, Brucie."

The smile deepened at the corners as if the playboy were enjoying a secret joke.  "It is my firm belief that there is an Oscar Wilde quote appropriate for every occasion."

The young man shook his head indulgently.  "Surely there are situations too tragic for even your role model to come up with something fitting."

Perfectly even white teeth glinted;  Bruce Wayne threw a hand out theatrically and declaimed, "To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness." 

A shocked titter, half appreciative and half aghast, went around the circle.  Bruce's eyes glittered like gems for a moment, hard and deep.  "I believe I've made my point," he said lightly.

A young woman next to him caught sight of Superman staring from across the room;  breaking the tableau she grabbed the playboy's arm and dragged him toward the superhero.  When the billionaire realized where she was heading he tried to disentangle himself from her arm laughingly, but she ignored his protests.  "Come now, Brucie," she said with a pout as the pulled him up in front of Superman, "it isn't like you to pass up the chance to meet with such a very _handsome_ hero!"

The Wayne scion rapped her lightly on the arm with a well-manicured hand.  "Wicked girl, I can't be seen throwing myself at someone so very... _wholesome_ , now can I?  It would ruin my reputation!" 

The people around Superman laughed knowingly.  Bruce Wayne's reputation rivaled that of Oscar Wilde's at its height:  dissolute, rakish, and very much taken with handsome and dangerous men.  Since coming back from an extended tour of Europe, it seemed that each week "Brucie" was found on the arm of a different wealthy and powerful Gotham male.

Ignoring the snickers around them, Superman smiled and extended a hand.  "Thank you for coming to the brunch, Mr. Wayne."

As the billionaire took Superman's hand, the young lady with him gave Bruce a sharp nudge;  the foppish man stumbled forward a couple of steps and almost collided with the Kryptonian.  The woman giggled shrilly.  "Oh, please call him 'Brucie,' Superman.  Everyone does!" 

Another well-dressed man in the crowd stage-whispered, "Brucie, wholesome or not, you won't find a man more powerful than that!  You should go for it!"

Brucie eyed Superman speculatively, not letting go of his hand.  "He does have a point," Brucie murmured appreciatively.  "So, would the Man of Steel be interested in having the--" a regal toss of his dark head, "--Queen of Gotham at his side today?"

More chuckles all around as Superman disengaged his hand.  "I'm charmed, I'm sure, Mr. Wayne," the Kryptonian said politely, in tones that made it clear he was not particularly charmed.  "But I prefer my partners to be a little less... _aggressive."_   He turned to engage some Metropolis matron in conversation, pointedly ignoring the playboy.

Bruce Wayne made a purring noise in the back of his throat.  "And I'm afraid I prefer my partners to be a little _...more_ aggressive," he said sweetly, adjusting his ascot, his smile coy and empty. 

Superman continued to make polite small talk about the weather, his back to Brucie.  "What would Oscar say now, Brucie?" said his female friend in a piercing whisper.

"I believe Mr. Wilde summed it up best with 'If you pretend to be good, the world takes you very seriously. If you pretend to be bad, it doesn't.'"  Bruce Wayne's voice was wry for a second as he continued quoting, "'Such is the astounding stupidity of optimism.'"

Superman resisted the temptation to turn around and glare at the man as he moved away.  This was exactly why he didn't understand Batman's fondness for his crazy city--protecting shallow, foppish lunatics like Bruce Wayne would wear on anyone's nerves.  Maybe this explained why the vigilante was so cranky most of the time. 

The brunch wore on, and to his annoyance, Superman found his eyes repeatedly caught by the figure in gray.  There was no doubting the man was handsome.  Even _beautiful_ , Clark supposed.  But that was certainly no reason to keep suddenly finding oneself watching the playboy across the room whenever one's mind wandered. 

Bruce Wayne turned and Clark realized he'd been doing it again.  The billionaire met his eyes and suddenly, surprisingly, flashed a very sweet, almost conspiratorial smile at the Kryptonian.  Superman blinked.

And in that moment, he heard a massive shattering of glass behind him, screams of terror, and then a blaze of agonizing pain snuffed out the world around him.

 **: : :**

Superman went down in a heap immediately as the electric-blue beam hit him square between the shoulderblades.  Chaos burst out all around Bruce, who dodged people, jumping a table in an attempt to get to the spot where he saw the Kryptonian go down.  The echoes of the superhero's cry of agony were still beating against his eardrums as he struggled against the press of fleeing people.

Three... _beings_ entered the banquet hall through the broken window.  Their bodies were somewhat insectoid, and seemed to bend at angles that didn't make any logical sense.  It made Bruce feel vaguely sick just to look at them.  They moved toward the fallen Superman, prodding him. 

Bruce moved to come up behind them, and one of the aliens swiveled a faceted head to stare at him.  Either their hearing was very good, or they were telepaths.  He could dodge left and get to Superman--before he could move, the alien shifted to block the possibility. 

So.  Telepathy.  Sometimes telepathy could be blocked by very strong emotion, but--

Superman stirred and groaned, and one of the aliens cocked its weapon and sent another bolt of blue agony into his body;  Kal convulsed under the crackle of energy, making a horrible involuntary noise.

Bruce found his very strong emotion.

Letting his fury and concern hammer through him uncontrolled, he yelled, "You're killing him, you sons of bitches!"  Through a haze of rage, he jumped toward the fallen hero.

This time the aliens didn't seem able to predict his movements.

Interesting.

Throwing himself across his teammate, Bruce glared up at the aliens.  Anger, anger, hatred, fear..."What the hell do you want?"

The aliens tilted their heads in ways nothing should be able to move and considered him. 

Then one of them dialed down the weapon and hit him with it as well.

 **: : :**

Bruce came to slowly.  He was in a small, gray room lit with red light.  On one side was a force field through which he could see a corridor like a honeycomb.  He shifted and realized he was practically lying on top of a still-unconscious Superman.  He glanced around the room.  No obvious cameras, but it seemed very likely they were under telepathic surveillance.

He focused on being angry and afraid, letting his true thoughts move slowly beneath the surface of the emotions:  inefficient, but necessary.  Anger was a difficult emotion to maintain for long, especially with the object of the anger not in close proximity.  Bruce supposed he could pick a fight with Superman when he came to, but it would be a challenge to remain angry at his fellow-captive, not to mention potentially risky;  if they seemed to be in danger of harming each other the aliens might separate them.  Just as they would surely separate them if they realized exactly how dangerous Bruce was.

Not to mention it was hard enough lately to be curt and distant with Superman when in his Batman persona.  The sarcasm and aloofness that he had cultivated so carefully with his teammate more and more had become a fragile shell over an extremely different reaction.  Bruce looked down at Kal-El's pale face, drawn and tired, his hair in disarray and beads of sweat on his brow.  No, deliberately cultivating anger at Superman was...not going to be practical.  But he was going to have to focus on some strong emotion to shield his thoughts. 

Some strong, base emotion, beyond logic and rationality.

Kal-El stirred slightly and made a sound partway between a groan and whimper, biting his lip as he fought toward consciousness.

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes briefly.  Kal probably would never forgive him for this, but if they both got out of this, at least they'd be around to hate each other.

 **: : :**

Superman's nightmare slowly resolved into a blur of grayness all around him.  A hand was running through his hair, over and over, gently and caressingly.  It felt good.  Someone nearby was making a quiet crooning noise, almost a moan.  He tried to sit up and the featureless room swam giddily;  he gasped and fell backwards. 

A hand touched his cheek.  "Superman?  Are you all right?"  He caught at the hand:  well-manicured.  The blur above him resolved into Brucie Wayne, his dissolute face serious for once.  "Superman?"

There seemed to be a red mist in front of Clark's eyes;  as he struggled to sit up he realized it was the light.  "Wherr--?" he managed, his voice slurring slightly.  His joints all still hurt from whatever he'd been hit with.

"Shh," Brucie said softly.  "It's okay, you're okay, we're both okay."  The hand in his hair tightened slightly.  "You're much more than okay."

Great.  He was trapped in a room with a playboy too stupid to realize this wasn't the right time for flirting.  Superman pushed away Brucie's hand, earning himself a disappointed pout.

"We seem to have been kidnapped," Bruce said, lowering the rebuffed hand again to touch Kal's throat lightly, a feather-touch of sensation.  "And we're currently under observation."  He nodded slightly to the right;  as Superman focused he could see that one wall was an energy field of some sort.  On the other side were...beings.  Superman felt dizzy just looking at them.

He lurched to his feet, getting between Brucie and the aliens.  "Why are we here?" he demanded through numb lips.

One of the aliens flexed its body in a way that made Clark feel slightly nauseated, and he heard a voice in his mind.  //We mean you no harm.  We are collectors.  A Kryptonian specimen:  very rare.  Put you in native habitat for observation.//

"This is a _zoo?"_   Clark stared around at the red-lit walls.  Native habitat for a Kryptonian: red sun radiation.  Of course.  He gestured at the playboy, who was wincing and averting his eyes from the Escheresque aliens.  "Why him too?"

//Refused to leave subject's side when subject rendered unconscious.  Assumption:  Kryptonian's mate.  Bring for happy fulfillment life of specimen.//  The aliens...perambulated off at various impossible angles, leaving Clark gaping at Brucie.

"What did they mean, you wouldn't leave me?"

Brucie grimaced slightly.  "I appear to have suffered an unfortunately timed attack of bravery.  'Only the shallow know themselves,' indeed."

"Spare me the Wilde.  So they put us together to keep me _happy_?  That's rich."

Dark blue eyes gleamed.  "And because they assume I'm harmless."

Superman shrugged and touched the force field lightly;  it sparked at him and he stepped back.  "I must have been out for a while;  my powers seem to be almost drained already.  I estimate I've got about a half-hour or so before they're totally gone."

Brucie seemed about to say something when the ship lurched suddenly.  A blue-white light began to strobe madly in the corridor and klaxons started to sound.  Superman leapt to his feet.  "This might be our chance.  Let's go."

"Go _where?_   You may not have noticed this, but we're trapped in a room with a force field and you have no powers."

Superman put his hand against the force field;  it hissed and crackled as he leaned against it.  "Still have some power left," he said shortly, pushing.  Little by little, the force field parted like a curtain, making agonizing searing noises.  Superman stepped into the field and held it open, grimacing;  he turned to see Brucie looking almost appalled in the middle of the room.  "Get out of here!" he said.

The playboy scrambled past him, squeezing between the Kryptonian and the field.  "Aren't you just the magnificent brute?" Brucie murmured as he brushed past into the corridor.

Superman let the force field snap shut behind him and staggered into the corridor, glaring at Brucie.  "Enough with the backhanded compliments, all right?"  He grabbed the playboy by the hand and they took off down the hallway, Bruce's wingtips skidding on the smooth floor.  Insectoid aliens ran past them but seemed to take no notice of them in the chaos.  Explosions and gunfire rang out somewhere in the distance.  They came to a row of what seemed to be escape pods set into the wall:  they were all already gone but one.  "Get inside," Clark said shortly, pushing the nattily-dressed civilian toward it.

Brucie dodged his hand.  "What are you going to do?  Stay here?  You're out of power now!"

"There's only space in there for one!  Don't argue with me!  I'll be fine!"

The playboy grabbed Superman and dragged him into the pod;  Clark tried to shake him off but he had used up the last of his power getting through the field.  In fact, he'd probably pushed himself well past his limit since the playboy's grip seemed almost unbreakably strong.  There was just barely space for the two of them in the pod;  Brucie pulled Superman snugly against him as the door slid shut, scraping against his back slightly.  There was a whoosh of acceleration and the explosions died away into a silence broken only by the slight beeping of a monitor and their mingled breaths.

Superman tried to take a deep breath and found that he didn't even have space to inhale comfortably.  Every inch of him was tightly up against Brucie, and the playboy had his face buried in his neck, taking sharp, shallow breaths.  Superman tried to shift away and failed entirely;  all he succeeded in doing was rubbing his body against Bruce's almost luxuriously.  The playboy made a small sound and flexed his hips against Superman's as if he could hardly help himself, his arousal quite clear. 

"This is hardly the time or the place!" Superman said in his sternest groupie-discouraging voice.

"Oh, I think it's the perfect time and place," Brucie responded silkily, nudging against him even more.

Superman huffed a small sigh as there wasn't enough space for a deep one.  "I suppose we're just lucky we could fit in this at all."

"That... _was_ very lucky," the playboy said rather thoughtfully, then rubbed against him once more.

"Though not so lucky now, drifting in space with no chance of a--"

There was a pleasant chime from the machinery around them and a metallic voice spoke in Interlac.  "M-class planet detected.  Course set."

"That was very lucky as well," said Brucie, sounding slightly amused. 

In reality, Bruce Wayne was anything but amused.  What exactly were the odds of there being only one escape pod left, of the two of them being able to fit, and of there being an M-class planet nearby?  Brucie might not be able to calculate the odds, but Bruce could, and he didn't like the answers.  He focused past the lust for a moment, calming his thoughts just enough to think that it wouldn't be any good to land on a desert planet;  humans did need water.

Another chime.  "M-class planet within range.  Water and food edible for scanned life-forms detected."

Too lucky.  The escape was too easy.

If you're a telepathic race and you suspect your zoo specimens might pine in captivity, what do you do?

Let them "escape to freedom," of course.

Bruce filled his senses with the scent of Superman's hair and let the lust climb in him again, thinking furiously beneath it.  This conscious screening was never going to work.  Eventually he'd slip and then the aliens would realize how dangerous they were together and separate them.  God, it felt so good to be up against Superman like this, to feel that strong body all along him.  He shifted, pressing closer, enjoying the heat of their bodies against each other.  He was going to have to go deeper, let the playboy persona take over his conscious thoughts altogether, keep the Bat working deep underneath it to come up with some way to break them out of this. 

He buried his face in Superman's neck, nibbling and sucking.  He'd have to try and keep the Kryptonian distracted too, or Kal would figure out something was up and blow their cover too soon.  There were probably a dozen guards with those synaptic disruptors right nearby.  Bruce remembered the sight of Superman writhing and agonized under their beams and stifled a groan.  If he could at least manage to keep Superman _annoyed..._

 __The Kryptonian made a small, hoarse sound in his throat that echoed Bruce's groan.  "Stop that," Superman said.  "That is...is very inappropriate."

For a second, Bruce felt nothing beyond blank surprise at what he heard tightly leashed in the hero's voice.  Then he let himself feel pleased that perhaps he'd be able to keep Superman distracted in a more dramatic way. 

He refused to indulge in any other, less pragmatic reactions he might have had.

But for now, the important thing was to submerge the calculating Bat in the randy playboy.  Bruce let the world narrow down to the aching in his groin, the tantalizing nearness of the other man filling his thoughts.  He'd have to give up all conscious calculation and be, for a little while, nothing more than what he appeared to be.

A stab of fear went through him at the idea and he tamped it down firmly.  He had to do this for them to survive.  He had to be uncomplicated, transparent, driven by nothing more than the basest of desires.  Focus on lust.  He was nothing but simple desire.  Nothing.

Bruce Wayne closed his eyes and let want and need rise up in him and blot out thought.  Simple desire.  Simple.

Everything was so simple.

Brucie leaned against the superhero again, feeling heat and longing pounding through him.  He had wanted this man from the moment he had seen him, he knew that.  He couldn't remember exactly when that had been, but it was so long ago.  He had waited so long, and he wanted him so much.

Why should he wait any more?

 **: : :**

 ****Kal felt the lips on his neck growing more insistent, a hot tongue lapping at his skin, as Brucie tried to work his hands down into the narrow gap between Superman's back and the escape pod wall, working downward.  "Mr. Wayne.  Mr. Wayne!"  he announced, trying to sound reasonable.  "Stop that right now."

Brucie made a strangled sound and nipped him, startling a stifled yelp from Superman.  "I'm not invulnerable right now, Mr. Wayne," he pointed out.

"Call me Brucie," the playboy panted between kisses.  "Please.  I want you to call me Brucie."

The escape pod lurched and twisted as gravity reasserted itself.  "Landing process enabled," the computer pointed out helpfully.  There was a rattling, rolling impact that made Brucie cry out in fear and wrap his arms tighter around the superhero, and then the side of the pod opened up.

Superman tumbled out with alacrity, getting as far from the playboy as possible.  Sand beneath his feet:  a beach of some sort.  He looked to the left and right to see a postcard-perfect white beach stretching away from them, turquoise-blue water lapping at the sand.  Ahead of them was something that looked something like palm trees, feathery and swaying.  No signs of habitation.

All under a scarlet sun, of course.

Bruce Wayne was still staring at him rather than the beach, his eyes wide and pupils dilated.  Superman pulled himself up to superheroic posture, projecting authority and...untouchability as much as possible.  "We'll have to find shelter," he announced.

"Okay," Brucie said, and followed him.

A quick survey of the surroundings revealed they were on a small island of exquisite beauty.  Beyond them, the ocean stretched implacably.  There was a spring of clear water running from the middle of the island, and a small cave, really just a hollow in some rocks, that would serve as temporary shelter. 

By the time they were done their circuit of the island, Bruce was sweating and uncomfortable in his morning coat.  He loosened his silky ascot and pulled it and the coat off, then he began to slowly unbutton the shirt as well, casting Superman glances to make sure he was watching.

Which Superman wasn't at all, but when the playboy pulled the shirt off he couldn't help but frown.  "Where did you get those scars, Mr. Wayne?"

"Brucie," the other man corrected him absent-mindedly, looking down at his chest.  He looked slightly puzzled, then his face cleared.  "Car crash, I think.  I like fast cars.  And fast men," he added, smirking and taking a step toward Superman.

Superman fell away from him, putting a hand out.  "Look, Mr. Wayne," he said patiently.  "I understand you're scared and worried, you feel like you need my protection or something, but I promise I'll do everything I can to protect you.  You don't need to be like this."

"Oh, but I _do,"_ purred the playboy, looking him up and down.  His eyes were dark and dreamy.  "Everything's so simple like this.  I can tell you how much I want you, how beautiful you are..."  His hands clenched for a moment and he took a sharp breath.  "I can hardly stand it, wanting you this much."

Kal pulled his eyes away from the beautiful eyes ringed with dark lashes, so incongruous above those scars.  "You should put your shirt back on, you'll get burned."

A velvety chuckle.  "Maybe I want to get burned."  Then a sudden glint of humor.  "Besides, that red sun radiation's probably too weak to burn me." 

He drew his hands down his chest;  Kal watched as the well-manicured fingers slid from his collarbones down across the dark nipples, over the scarred pectorals and lower--he stepped away again, clearing his throat.  "We're going to need food as well, Mr. Wayne.  I'll climb one of those trees and check the fruit."

The fruit turned out to be something between a fig and an apple;  Kal tested it cautiously and declared it edible.  "It would probably be better roasted, though."  He kept himself busy collecting firewood and working to start a fire as Brucie sat idly under a tree, staring out at the sea and sometimes turning his hungry gaze to Kal. 

By the time the fire was going, Brucie seemed almost half-asleep, lying on the ground on Superman's cape, still half-naked.  "Strong.  Base," he muttered sleepily.  "Twice base too much.  System overload."

Superman reached out and touched him lightly on the shoulder;  Brucie came fully awake, rubbing his eyes.  Superman held out a stick to him with some of the fruit spitted on it.  "Sounds like a fascinating dream," he said dryly.

Brucie frowned as he held the stick over the fire and the sizzle of roasting fruit filled the air.  "I don't remember it now.  'I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying,'" he said, making air quotes around the quotation, the stick waving.  He looked up at Superman and fluttered his eyelashes.  "Such a shame.  I would have liked to be dreaming about _you."_

 __Kal ignored the compliment and watched the other man across the fire.  The sanguine sun had set and the night was velvety blackness all around them.  The flames lit Wayne's aristocratic face in shifting light and shadow, making it look like a mask of gold.  "Why Wilde?"  he was surprised to hear himself ask.

Brucie stared thoughtfully at the fire, his eyes gleaming as the light came and went.  After a long while he murmured, "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." 

"What's that supposed to mean?"  Superman knew his voice was annoyed, although he had no idea what he had expected the man to say.

Brucie looked up at Superman, his handsome mouth curving wryly.  "I have no idea, but it _sounds_ wonderfully deep, doesn't it?"  He withdrew the fruit from the fire, poked it and licked his finger.  "Maybe I use Oscar to hide the fact that beneath the playboy facade, I'm..." he paused and blinked slightly.  "...nothing.  Nothing at all."  The hand holding the stick shook slightly.

It was more introspection than Superman had expected possible from the shallow dilettante, and he found himself surprisingly moved by that.  "I'm sure there's more to you than fashion and sex."

Brucie shook his head, biting his lip, staring at Superman with his eyes huge and shadowed.  "No.  There's nothing.  Nothing but wanting you."

Superman made an exasperated noise.  "Not _that_ again."  He remembered the feel of the other man's body, tight against him, the hips flexing, the breath hoarse and fast in his ear.  The scars on Brucie's chest caught the light like jewels and Superman swallowed hard and focused on the food he was eating.

"I'm sure you don't like men that way."  The playboy's voice was soft and tentative.

"I like men that way just fine," Superman said brusquely, surprised to hear himself admit it, trying not to see the leap of hope in Brucie's eyes.  "Just...not under these circumstances."  He hadn't had a great deal of experience, but enough to know that Clark Kent was generally a bottom.  And this ivory-and-gold creature across the fire from him was most certainly not going to be a top.  No, Brucie Wayne would need someone who could take control of him, guide him, direct him to do everything the...hypothetical top wanted and needed him to do.  Brucie Wayne would want someone to penetrate him and fill him until he was begging for more, holding down and soothing and caressing that beautiful body until he cried out and submitted to ecstasy, submitted to his lover.  Clark wasn't the person to do that.

The thought flickered reluctantly through Superman's head that he wasn't Clark Kent right now;  he pushed it aside with some alarm.  Brucie was still staring into the flames and through them at Superman, his eyes distant.  Kal sighed and licked the warm juice off his fingers without really thinking and the dreamy azure eyes sharpened in hunger again.  Kal kicked himself mentally and hastened on, changing the subject:  "Tomorrow we'll start to work on building some kind of signal, or maybe a raft.  People will be looking for us."

"There's no way out," Brucie said, his voice low.  "We're trapped here.  No rescue, no one else.  Just you and I.  It's simple.  So simple." 

The husky voice brushed at Kal like velvet and he tried to shrug off an involuntary prickle of desire.  "You can sleep on the cape if you like, Mr. Wayne.  I'll be fine sleeping on the grass." 

He stood up and moved toward a flat swath of green, the playboy's eyes following him avidly.  As he lay down and looked up at the thickly-gathered stars, he heard the playboy's voice again, as dark and promising as the night:  "I really do wish you'd call me Brucie."

Kal closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind and sleep.  After a while, he managed it.

 **: : :**

Kal was dreaming, he knew that.  Dreaming of dark hair and elusive eyes, of scarred skin and soft hands.  Scattered images of the playboy came and went through the dream like broken bits of mirror.  The gray cell, the island, the party.  The dream settled into the first moment he had seen Bruce Wayne at the party, and in the dream he strode across the room and pinned the other man to the wall, kissing that facile mouth and hearing the playboy moan luxuriously.  In the dream they staggered to the cold marble floor of the ballroom, in the middle of the crowd, and he felt lust burgeoning in him uncontrollably, hot and heavy, and he was dragging Brucie's head down, hearing him groaning in delight and desire, mouth closing on heated flesh with a shock of pure need.  Brucie's mouth on him, coaxing and agile, making him thrust forward into sweetness and slickness--

His own voice stammering something like a command woke him up to find his pants worked down and the playboy leaning over him, sucking fervently and making ecstatic noises under his breath.  Superman pushed him away but the other man clung tighter, and Kal's strength was almost gone, he was nothing but need and want, but he managed to extract himself from the other man with a final gasp of effort.

Brucie was panting and staring at him;  Kal's arousal made his voice sharp and angry.  "What are you _doing?"  
_  
A long, moaning chuckle.  "I believe I was sucking you off.  Very skillfully, too."

There was no denying either of those statements and Kal's body had no intention of doing so;  his erection refused to go away despite his embarrassment and anger.  "What is your _problem,_ Wayne?"

"You."  Bruce's breath caught for a moment.  "You.  I couldn't sleep;  all I could think of was you and how it would feel to kiss you, how much I wanted you to fuck me.  I've wanted it for so long, so long."

Brucie's eyes were almost wild in the starlight and Kal's erection _would not go away._   "I only met you yesterday!" 

"I wanted you from the moment I first saw you in the sky above me, all power tightly leashed, silk over steel, control and command together, wanted you so much."  Brucie's hands clenched as he spoke;  he didn't seem to notice.

Superman tried to laugh at the florid phrases.  "Don't romanticize simple lust, Mr. Wayne."

"Simple."  Brucie's laugh was oddly strained.  "Simple.  Simpler than lust.  Now that I know you, the person under the symbol, I want more than just the sex.  I want _you_ , want to be with you.  By your side, as long as you'll have me.  I can be yours, if you'll just want me back.  I love you."

Superman stood up, stepping away from the playboy's pleading look, pulling his pants up.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "You seem very nice, but I hardly even know you."  He made his way down to the ocean and plunged in, letting the cool water soothe his aching arousal slightly.

When he looked back he could see Bruce on the beach, starlight touching his hair, his gaze following him.

 **: : :**

For Brucie, the following days went by in a blur of need and desire.  His longing for the Kryptonian was agonizing, occupying almost all of his thoughts.  Superman wanted him, that was obvious, and wanted him badly.  Brucie would sometimes catch the superhero staring at him hungrily, one hand unconsciously stoking the blue cloth at his thigh, nearly touching himself.  They were both wound up to an almost impossible fever pitch.

A small part of Brucie, a part he never looked at too closely, was coldly pleased that Brucie remained untouched, pleased that the Boy Scout had so much restraint.  It was necessary that they both feel this way as intensely as possible, that it build up more and more.  The rest of Brucie was very, very pissed off about it.  He was dying of lust, craving the feel of that body against him and in him, he was unsatisfied and burning and wanting so much.  Wanting so much than the sex.  He wanted to be beside the Kryptonian, helping him, being his partner in all things--which was _ridiculous_ , Brucie thought with a fleeting touch of misery, because how was a playboy billionaire ever going to be the equal of the Man of Steel?  But there it was.

He was in love with Superman.

The small, cold part of Brucie cringed away from that realization, winced at the memory of his impassioned confession.  Then Brucie heard the sound of Superman humming something to himself as he peeled fruit for dinner, his voice pleasant and husky, and the unhappy part of him vanished under another cascade of desire.  Brucie made his way to where he could look at Superman, drink in the sight of him again, revel in the way simply looking at the object of his desire made him feel:  hot and wild and free.

More lust, they needed more.  Lust was a weapon, he thought confusedly, unsure what he meant.  Lust broke things.

 **: : :**

 ****Brucie was dreaming.  At first the dreams were simple:  strong hands on his body, coaxing and commanding him to pleasure.  Red cloth under him, rippling, pooling.

Pooling like--

Superman was gone and he was kneeling in a pool of blood.  Superman was gone and there was nothing, nothing, nothing at all to keep the fear away.  There should be something else, Bruce thought frantically as terror choked him, as he heard the ringing reports over and over again, echoing.  There should be something else here, something strong that kept him safe, a line to hold on to.

But there was nothing.

 **: : :**  
 **  
**Kal woke up to the sound of choked screaming, high and panicked.  He scrambled toward the sound, sure that some natural predator had finally attacked the guileless playboy, only to find Bruce thrashing on the ground, caught in some horrible nightmare.  His voice was scraped raw with agony, and without thinking Kal jumped forward to shake the playboy and wake him up.  "Wake up, wake up, it's all right, you're dreaming, it's just a dream," he stammered, and the screams broke off abruptly in a strangled gasp as Bruce snapped fully awake.

Brucie threw his arms around the Kryptonian, still shaking.  "My parents," he said, and Superman stroked his hair and back gently as he swallowed hard, unable to continue.  Kal stared beyond him at the sea, reproaching himself--how could he ever have assumed that just because this man seemed flippant and coy he had no pain behind the beautiful face?

He realized abruptly that he had his arms wrapped around Brucie, holding him close, but Brucie was making no move to seduce or arouse him.   They just sat together, Kal rocking Bruce gently, Bruce seeming to find some level of reassurance in being held. 

Brucie made a small sound that was half a laugh and half something else.  "I'm sorry," he said, looking up at Kal.  "I know I've been pretty useless here."

There were tears at the corners of his eyes and without thinking Kal put his mouth to one gently.  He felt damp lashes under his lips, tasted salt, and Bruce went very still.  Kal kissed Bruce's temple, soft dark hair brushing his mouth, trailed his lips across a smooth cheek very slowly.  He didn't seem able to think anymore at all.  He couldn't think. 

Kal stopped short of Bruce's lips, kissing the corner of his mouth, the sweet indentation there that could become either a smile or a frown, all potential.  Everything seemed all potential, liquid fire in his veins, he couldn't think anymore.  Bruce was still as a statue and Kal knew he could bring him to life, could make him burn with pleasure and open to him, could make him beg for more. Could give him more.

Kal wanted to give him everything.

Bruce's lips under his were warm and yielding, the kiss sweet and pliant at first as both of them simply let the rush of emotion wash over them.  Then Bruce's tongue flicked against Kal's lips and heat flashed through him;  he opened Bruce's mouth and relished the gasping moan breathed into his.

The playboy still had on his white shirt, unbuttoned and hanging loose;  Kal ran his hands up and down the edges, feeling the scarred chest against them.  Bruce made a sound caught between a chuckle, purr, and gasp:  his coyness and effeteness seemed burned away by lust as he held Kal's hands to him briefly, his eyes slipping closed.  Kal made quick work of Bruce's pants, then laid the other man down on his cape, the thin white shirt somehow managing to enhance rather than obscure his physique.

The world seemed narrowed to how much they both needed this, to the exquisite physical facts of their desire.  Kal struggled to remove the blue tights and finally gave up, leaving them bunched around his thighs as he lifted the other man's hips, savoring the flexing muscles, the tense readiness. 

Hazed with lust, almost unable to concentrate, he managed to pause as his dry fingers caressed gently.  "But..." he managed, and Brucie flashed a triumphant smile.

"No problem!"  He scrambled away from Superman long enough to come back with a seashell filled with something creamy.  "It's from the leaves of those things like aloe vera plants, should do the trick."

The idea that the vapid playboy had spent the last four days devising a lubricant almost managed to startle Superman out of his passion, but then Bruce spread slickness on them both, and rational thought fled once more.  His pulse was hammering, all his senses filled with the other man's scent and taste and sight, he had wanted this for so long and now it was his, this vision was his.  His to claim and possess and enjoy.

Brucie made a throttled groan as Kal entered him, his head thrown back, his feet looped around Kal's shoulders.  His hand drifted almost unconsciously to his own cock, stroking very lightly, his eyes half-closed and focused inward.  "That's it, love," he crooned softly, "That's good, so good.  So hard, so good, that's--ah, _yes_ ," he managed as Kal nudged inward.  "Fuck, yes.  More."

It felt like the world was wavering at the edges as Kal pushed, tight heat around him, passion and desire filling him with strength despite the red sun, filling him with the need to satisfy and satiate and make replete.  The sweetness of Bruce's voice in his ears as he hit the right spot over and over, the rhythm driving both of them past rationality and into joyous madness.  Bruce was straining against him, his erection flushed and desperate, he could tell the other man was so close, so close.

"Come for me, Brucie," he said hoarsely, and his lover moaned sharply at the name, the first time he had used it.  "Want to see you under me, coming because of me."

The playboy's eyes were dark and shadowed; he made a ragged sound as Kal thrust in again and his cock twitched.  "No.  Not...not yet.  Has to be...at the same time.  Exact.  Same time."  He arched against Kal and sighed.  "So good.  Nothing so good in the world, in any world.  You."

Kal's climax built almost unbearably slowly, pressure and tension driving him on, until finally--he gasped in sharp surprise as ravishing pleasure convulsed him, saw Brucie throw back his head and shudder--

And then the world literally came apart at the seams. 

The last thing Kal saw as everything faded away were Brucie's eyes gone far too knowing, far too sharp, and far too pitying.

 **: : :**

Superman was back in a gray and featureless room, fully clothed and a good ten feet away from a fully-dressed Bruce Wayne.  Echoes and aftershocks of pleasure were still ringing through his mind:  illusions, phantasms.

The light was yellow.  "They don't have red sun radiation;  that was just an illusion too," Bruce noted, as dispassionately as if they hadn't just been locked in rapture on a starlit beach.

Which they hadn't been.

Superman flexed his hands, feeling power course through him.  He felt a vicious, fierce desire to hit something.

So he did.

The wall crumpled, alarms going off all around them as Superman plowed through ranks of aliens.  Bruce was beside him, ridiculous wingtips and well-manicured hands leveling guards with perfect precision, all facade of harmlessness dropped as they battled their way toward the cockpit.  The dove-gray cutaway coat swirled like a cape as he moved with Superman, moved with the impossible grace Superman had come to know well in the last six months in his vigilante teammate.  His teeth were bared in a snarl and he looked more beautiful than Kal had ever seen any being look.

Together they stormed the cockpit, where the alien captain was eventually convinced to turn the ship around and release the two specimens back to their native habitat.  Later--before the Green Lantern Corps, alerted by Superman, apprehended his ship--the captain would file a report in a shaky hand indicating that Terrans and Kryptonians were not at all suitable subjects for Siluurian zoos, and they especially should _never_ be kept in the same cell.

 **: : :**

Clark Kent entered his apartment with his arms full of groceries.  He was setting them on the counter when a bit of shadow detached itself from a corner and moved closer.

Clark glared.  "I didn't tell you my secret identity so you could show up here like the boogeyman."  It had seemed...unfair that he knew and Bruce didn't.

Batman's face was expressionless.  "I wanted to tell you what was really going on, back there.  I couldn't.  I couldn't even let myself know it."

"So you hid your real self and played me for a fool?"

The tiniest exhalation that could have been a sigh.  "The alien system couldn't read strong emotion.  It was a logical deduction that _enough_ very strong emotion, precisely timed, might overload the system."  A hesitation.  "It had to be doubled.  Not just one person...wanting and...enjoying."

Clark's hands clenched.  He felt ridiculously off-balance here in his ill-fitting suit and dorky glasses, facing down a pillar of shadow.  "But it wasn't really you at all.  None of how you were 'feeling' was...real.  It was all just a mask."

The black cape rustled as though Batman had started to take a step forward, but the black-clad vigilante didn't move.  "Didn't you listen to what I said that first night, in front of the fire?  When you asked why I used Wilde?"

 _Give a man a mask, and he will tell you the truth._

Clark eyed him suspiciously, refusing to allow the leap of hope show in his face.  "You really remember everything?"

A sharp inhalation. _"How could I ever forget?"_ The tremble in the dark and grating voice was barely perceptible, but the yearning was clear.  Clark found himself speechless, staring at the vision of leather and silk in front of him.  So many layers of danger and beauty, so many different kinds of grace and passion. 

And he wanted them all.

Bruce's voice was steady again.  "Here's a final Wilde quote for you."  A flicker of a smile, a ghost of the playboy's elusive expression.  "'Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to.'"

The Dark Knight crossed the room and put his mouth to Clark's for their first kiss, his mouth as sweet as Brucie's, as strong as Batman's, and as true as Bruce himself.

Clark knew then, as he captured and was captured in turn, that they had the strength to yield to temptation.


End file.
